


How the Prince Stole Christmas

by picnicsandstars



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picnicsandstars/pseuds/picnicsandstars
Summary: Roman loved Christmastime, and with a fourth member joining the celebrations, he knew this year would be merrier than ever before. But all his plans of holiday cheer ground to a halt when he was confronted with Virgil badmouthing him. When he accused Virgil of slipping back into his old ways, he had half expected him to justify himself. What he had never expected was the fantastical quest it would lead to, and the friends and foes he would meet on his mission to defend honor and bravery.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43
Collections: Sanders Sides Secret Santa 2019





	How the Prince Stole Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Omgsomeonesomewhereonearth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omgsomeonesomewhereonearth/gifts).



Roman rose up into the commons. It was a beautiful sight to see at this time of year. Christmas in the mind palace was always a joyous occasion, and this year would be most special indeed. A new member would be joining in on their festivities, and he had prepared just the housewarming event. Sure, maybe it was a bit more lowkey than he usually went for, but with the other two’s prodding and his own desire for general merriment, he had carefully modified his preparations so that Virgil would feel at home. Sweaters of his own design (and yes, Patton’s too) had been drawn up, the writing of a carol was well underway, and the commons were thoroughly decorated.

The tree stood tall and vibrant, with ornaments and tinsel stuffed in every place it could fit and a magnificent glowing Roman figurine up top. Cedar-carved reindeer and sugar plums lined the windowsills. The room had an inviting orange glow to it, wafting warmly from the well-lit stone fireplace. Above it hung three hand-crocheted stockings, well-used and well-loved, and a fourth, visibly less worn one, unlived in but beautiful all the same.

All the decorations seemed to illuminate the small couch in the center. After admiring his handiwork for the umpteenth time that December, Roman’s eyes finally settled on it, only to blink in surprise as he found it actually occupied.

Patton sat horizontally with one leg on the mattress and the other dangling off the side, arms hanging loosely over the couch arm. Time had proven this to be his most effective position, ticking off the requirements for both dads and gays.

Seated opposite Patton - well, this was a surprise - was Virgil, draped upside down over the head of the couch, waving his hand in the air to catch some word. Both parties seemed too deep in conversation to have noticed him yet.

He was about to get their attention when suddenly, Virgil snapped his fingers. “Butterflies! Butterflies in the stomach. Every single time without fail. That can’t be good for Thomas.”

Patton giggled, a sly smile finding its way onto his features. “Then we really need to do something about that, don’t we? Roman’s asked guys out loads of times. I bet he’d be happy to -”

Virgil chuckled. “Are you kidding me? With his instincts? Please, he wouldn’t know how to handle it.”

Roman felt his cheeks flush with hot anger. “Oh, I wouldn’t, now, would I?” he asked, and both of them jumped. Virgil slid off the couch head and tumbled unceremoniously onto the floor.

He pushed himself up, eyeing Roman with immediate guarded suspicion. “How long have you been there?”

Roman scoffed. “Long enough to hear you two going on about how I don’t know anything about talking to guys! Honestly, you could at the very least include  _ me _ if we’re talking about Thomas’ romantic endeavors!”

A long silence wrapped tightly around them, and for a moment, in spite of his anger and shame, a burst of satisfaction shot through him. If they wanted to make excuses for gossiping behind his back, they would have to answer to him.

Then, Virgil snorted.

“ _ You? _ Did you think  _ you _ would be our go-to for this stuff?”

Roman’s cheeks grew redder. “Actually, yes, I would think that you’d have the sense to leave romance to the, um,  _ romantic _ side, but apparently even that has to be spelled out.”

Virgil clicked his tongue. “Roman, Roman, Roman. Didn’t we have a whole episode about this? Your idea of a sweet first date is turning to murder. You’re not exactly what I’d call a choice bachelor.”

“Virgil,” interjected Patton’s gentle voice from behind him, “kiddo, this really isn’t -”

Virgil held up a hand, not breaking eye contact with Roman. A small grin grew on his face. “I’ve got this, Patton.”

“But maybe we should use our talking words to -”

Virgil turned around to look at Patton this time. “Let me handle him, okay? I’ve got this under control.”

They looked at each other, and Roman fought to keep from butting in. How dare Virgil treat him like a thing to be handled!

To add insult to injury, Patton nodded a moment later. “Okay, but whatever you’re doing, play nice. And let me know if you need anything.” He tilted his head so he could stare past Virgil to Roman. “That goes for both of you, okay? You can always ring your pop!”

Both of them gave murmurs of agreement, though Roman’s were more of confusion than anything. That was apparently enough to satisfy Patton, however, and he sunk out with a knowing look.

Virgil turned back to Roman and crossed his arms. “Well, you heard him. Let’s use our talking words, Princey.”

“Going back to old nicknames now, are we?”

“Does it matter?”

Roman grinned mischievously. “Oh, no. I just thought it was fitting. You’re really going back to your old ways.”

Virgil did a sort of surprised huff-laugh. “Excuse me?”

Roman crossed his arms in turn. “Don’t think I don’t notice. You’re acting just like you would before you agreed to work with us.”

Virgil pulled back into himself impatiently. “Meaning?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Anxiety,” he said, and the title slipped out so naturally that he didn’t even catch himself. “You’re playing the villain.”

There was a beat, and Roman sunk from his self-righteous high to a self-conscious low as he processed what he had said. Virgil just pursed his lips, but it seemed like he was struggling not to do more.

“Virgil, I didn’t -”

“No,” murmured Virgil, “it’s not a big deal. Desperate times, I guess.”

Roman shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“Is now really the time to -”

“Yes,” Roman said firmly, all playful mocking gone from his demeanor.

Virgil massaged the bridge of his nose and plopped back down onto the couch, this time dangling unnaturally off the arm. “When I was acting like that, I mean, it was because you guys refused to listen to what I had to say. I thought I’d made that pretty clear.”

Roman couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “I’m not saying we were always the most…welcoming bunch, but that’s only because you put on such a scary face!”

“I had to! It was the only way to get you to hear me out.”

“If you wanted us to hear you out, why make yourself even less likable?”

“Well, if you weren’t going to like me either way, I had to at least make sure I was heeded. Intimidation was kind of my only option.”

“See, you’re back at intimidation all over again! No rightful cause would ever need tactics so low as instilling fear in the hearts of men,” he declared, clenching his fist.

Virgil groaned. “You’re too dense for this. Just…nevermind, you wouldn’t understand. It’s honestly not that big a deal.”

Roman’s expression softened. “I want to understand.”

Virgil sat up. “What?”

“I said, I want to understand. Whatever justification you had in your head at the time, I know it led to all of us hurting you in some way. To  _ me _ hurting you in some way. That’s a big deal if I’ve ever seen one. And if it led up to who you are today, I want to know that part of you. I want to know how I can do better, and how you learned to better yourself.”

Virgil blinked in disbelief. “Roman, that was…really heartfelt of you. I guess I’d never really realized that you felt -“

“Also I want to see the look on your face once I prove you wrong.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He exhaled, seeming for a moment to be lost in a world of his own. But then he lit up and turned to Roman with a vigorous slyness. He pushed himself off the couch stealthily. “Alright, Princey, you want to understand so badly? Let me put this in a way you can get through that head of yours. Unless you’d rather use your talking words.”

Roman laughed pompously, glad to be getting back on track. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Virgil’s smile widened, and Roman swore that his teeth glinted in the firelight. “Perfect.”

Before Roman knew what was happening, he felt a tug on his arm, turned to Virgil, and found that they were sinking out together.

Roman blinked as he recognized their destination. It did not resemble a room of the mindscape, but rather a typical fantasy woodland forest. A thin, babbling brook made the whole atmosphere tranquil and merry. Dappled light streamed perfectly through coniferous treetops.

“The Imagination?” he asked aloud.

Virgil nodded. “You want to understand so bad? I can show you exactly what it’s like.” Slowly, methodically, he held out a hand to him. “Lend me your power. Give me total control over the Imagination, just for a while, and I can make you the villain.”

Roman chuckled. “No, you can’t! Try as you might, so long as I have control over my actions, I will stand on the side of valor and heroism!”

“Oh, that’s cute. Alright then, prove me wrong.”

His hand lingered there, waiting patiently. Roman looked at Virgil with fierce competitiveness, and Virgil stared back. Roman hummed his agreement and took his hand.

There was one quiet beat. And then, all at once, a wind of red fog began to howl all around them, blowing his hair and face this way and that. Roman retracted his hand to shield his eyes from its cold currents. It swooped around them, intertwining with the soft sound of Virgil’s low chuckling. The last thing Roman took note of before he succumbed to wind pressure was an unreadable gleam in Virgil’s eyes. The laughter grew louder and louder, and it overtook the wind in volume until it flooded Roman’s senses. It became the wind itself, tossing and turning him every which way like a directionless speck, until suddenly everything was over.

Roman blinked his eyes open. At first glance, nothing seemed to have changed. The setting was the same - save for the absence of Virgil.

<Hey.>

Roman gasped and flinched away from…nothing. There had been no sound, no voice. It had come from his own thoughts, and yet he knew somehow that it  _ wasn’t _ his own thoughts.

<Relax, dude, it’s just me. Can’t have me trekking along with you and interfering with your “noble deeds” and all that.>

Roman frowned. “Oh shut up. What’s your plan even supposed to be, anyway?”

<The one medium that’ll get through to you, I guess. Imagination theatre, only more literally. Unless you’ve got a problem with it, we’re gonna go through this classic storytelling style and just see what happens.>

Roman tilted his head at the air.

<…You're gonna act.>

“Acting!” exclaimed Roman, facing upwards to declare his love to the heavens. This he understood. “Wonderful! Where do I start?”

He had a faint awareness of soft chuckling and realized that sudden vibrations were beginning from all around him.

<I’m glad you asked.>

The ground shook below him, and he took a few steps back in order to keep his balance. It was a good thing, too, because just as he did, a thin crack emerged right where he had been standing. The crack sped past him, lining both directions until it spanned the full horizon. The shaking doubled in intensity. Roman grabbed a thick tree trunk to try and keep himself upright.

The other side of the forest suddenly…fell. It plummeted inexplicably below the surface he stood on, leaving nothing but blue sky in its wake. Roman made no move to bend his knees, accustomed as he was to this phenomenon from years of manipulating the mindscape himself. As expected, there was no impact, meaning that the ground had settled into place.

Curiously, Roman crept over to the edge. He knelt over to get a good look, but the setting from only moments ago was now unrecognizable.

He was staring over the edge of an enormous stone cliffside that must have stood five hundred yards tall, where moss-soaked cobblestone twisted and turned to form a grand staircase. At its foot, barely visible from where he was, seemed to be some small brand of town or settlement.

Roman blinked. This sort of craftsmanship from  _ Virgil _ of all people? His own creations tended to have a little more flair and polish, sure, but they never came quite so spontaneously.

He decided to do the natural thing and explore this strange new area. As his hands began to swing vigorously back and forth, he realized that his clothes had been replaced with a pale white tunic and pants, held together with a tight red belt with a sheath for his sword. All this was completed by the gold-accented, well-worn leather chest plate and boots.

“Hey! What’s with the wardrobe downgrade?” he complained.

<Medieval setting rules. Nothing I can do about it.>

“You’re literally God right now.”

<Oh relax, at least I let you keep your sword. Besides, you look good in armor.>

He huffed but started down the staircase without another word. For what it was worth, he had to admit he rocked the…peasant look.

He walked for a while in solitude, though it was hard to fully relax with the knowledge that he was being watched by an invisible entity. So he instead focused on the simple albeit breathtaking staircase itself, sliding his fingers over the cool, bumpy walls on either side of it. Little bundles of moss draped over it in places, tickling his fingers.

“So far I’ve seen gray, gray, more gray, and the least plant-like plant you could have gotten,” he said after a few minutes, bored out of his mind with this artificially engineered silence. “Exactly how much of this was influenced by your taste in music?”

<Shut up. I’m a ghost. I don’t exist. You’re talking to yourself.>

“Oh, come on. You can't create a climb this long and expect me to go down the whole thing without saying anything.”

No response. Roman swore he heard a current of wind from beneath the flight of stairs he was on.

“Well, for a ghost that doesn’t exist, you make decent scenery, I suppose,” he said.

He continued down the next flight of stairs, humming a nonexistent tune to himself until he came to a landing. He was about to continue further down when he heard loud footsteps scraping across the stone beneath him.

He tensed and unsheathed his sword as stealthily as he could manage, his eyes darting left and right between the cliffside and the village below.

A lime green tail swooped over the wall nearest the cliff.

Roman dropped down onto the floor at once so as not to be spotted. The tail took no notice of him, only curled further around the wall, gripping it.

He was about to pull himself up to a crouch in hopes of escaping undetected, but his instincts told him to freeze once he heard a voice below him.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” it said. “The sun has passed its highest point in the sky, and now sinks down, down into the night!” It laughed loudly and with pure, unhinged glee. The voice was gravelly and high but unmistakably masculine, and it seemed like it was always just on the edge of cracking.

“And then? Then, it will rise again! Oh, what a glorious occasion it will be. I see it now. When the dawn looms over Iactatio, so too will I and my path of destruction! And if even a soul escapes my wrath, all will know the name of the lindworm!”

There was a scampering from the direction of the voice, and just as the tail dropped off the wall, Roman sensed a shadow growing over him.

He turned around, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw a humongous, lime green back with sleek, pressed scales.

Time seemed to slow down as he sat there, processing this giant looming body above him. Yet the lindworm moved so smoothly around him. Its lanky mass crawled around itself on the other side of the wall, settled onto the slope, and vanished.

Roman continued to stare up at the sky in the spot where the creature’s long body had passed a moment ago. He got to his feet and returned the sword to its sheath. So there it was. The villainous, looming threat. A catch to the fairytale bliss, an inciting incident of sorts. Then this was to be his mission. This beast was going to devastate the populace of an innocent village. He, the righteous hero of the tale, would have to put an end to its devious plot, or else be tempted by the dark side along the way.

<You…you let him go.>

Roman looked up, taken off-guard. “But of course I did!”

<But - why? He was right there.>

Roman snorted. “Well, I wasn’t going to interrupt his monologue! What am I, some sort of monster?” He pointed a finger accusingly at the sun like a JoJo character. “That’s it, isn’t it? You wanted me to harm him, but I prevailed! That was the test! And I passed without even trying!”

<Wh- no, no, that’s not the test, that’s obviously not the test, I would never ->

“Oh my gosh, it totally is! You really thought you could trick me into taking your approach, but- ”

<That was my approach.>

Roman blinked.

<You honestly think you’re somehow better than me because you didn’t do anything when you had the chance? Pathetic. Look at you. You weren’t ‘brave.’ You weren’t ‘courageous.’ You didn’t even solve anything. Now everyone is going to suffer, and it’s all. Your. Fault.>

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

<What’s that supposed to mean?>

Roman stood up a little straighter in defiance of nobody at all. “So eager to give up, Virgil? My quest has only just begun. I can save the village yet.”

There was a pause, and then quiet laughter sounded in his head.

<You want to draw this out? Fine by me. But you heard him, Roman. He strikes at dawn. You’ve got a deadline, and the clock is ticking.>

In the village below, it was a lazy summer afternoon. Up here, all that meant was that the sun was headed west.

Roman ran.

✧✧✧

It took nearly ten minutes to descend the staircase and run towards the small town on the horizon. Ten long minutes of heavy breathing interspersed with breathy complaints.

At some point, he had pointed out that this would go a lot quicker if Virgil just teleported him into the village. <Hey, I’m not the one who wanted to keep this pointless thing going,> Virgil had shot back. <I’m doing you a favor. Letting you live out your ‘hero’s journey’ or whatever.> The retort came easily to him and seemed almost rehearsed - though Roman supposed that applied to Virgil’s trademark snark in general.

“You know, I don’t think running is really a part of the hero’s journey.”

Well, maybe it would be if Thomas’ hopes and dreams had exercise somewhere in there.>

“Name a single thing he could get out of it. And Logan’s ‘reason’ mumbo jumbo doesn’t count,” he added quickly.

<Cute guys,> Virgil posited immediately, and ugh, there he went again, always ready with the quick comeback. <You see tons of dudes whenever you go for a run. Makes you look impressive.>

“Not when it goes like this, it doesn’t,” he huffed, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his forehead.

<Oh gee, it’s almost like you should run more.>

Roman was about to make a witty comment, but just then the faint but merry sound of flutes and fiddles reached his ears. It sounded like some sort of festival; the village was just up ahead!

He quickened his pace despite his fatigue (which, mercifully, prompted no further remarks from the peanut gallery), and soon arrived at the outskirts of the celebration. He promptly keeled over and gasped for breath. He must have been quite conspicuous because when he peeked up, a small handful of people from the crowd had wandered towards him.

A plump woman in a white shirt and sky blue kirtle was the first to offer her help. She rushed in front of the others, took his hand in her own, and steadied him with a firm grip. “Oh dear, you look like a right mess,” she cooed.

Roman coughed a couple of times but finally regained his breath. “I’m fine, ma’am,” he assured her. “No need to worry.”

The maiden smiled. “Welcome to the midsummer celebration,” she said sweetly.

She stepped back amongst the others who had taken an interest in him, giving Roman a clear look at them for the first time. A second woman had taken to tilting her head at him. He immediately felt uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. She was nobility of some kind, as evidenced by her deep blue velvet dress. Her sleeves, which were so long that they must have drooped down to her knees, boasted vibrant, peacock blue linings.

“I haven’t seen you before,” she sniffed matter-of-factly, as if the idea offended her. “Are you from the wood?”

Roman thought for a moment on how to answer this. He decided (with a little persuasion from her narrowing eyes) that it would be easier for all parties involved to circumvent the whole different-plane-of-existence deal. Plus, Virgil might count that as cheating.

Roman cleared his throat. “I am a traveler from far, far away,” he said in the most sophisticated tone he could manage. He swore that something resembling a snicker sounded in his head, but he pressed on. “I have come to warn you of a great danger to your village.”

“‘Far, far away,’” the prudish woman repeated incredulously. “And what, pray tell, do the citizens of ‘far, far away’ have an interest in warning us about?”

Roman held his head a little higher. “A lindworm,” he answered proudly.

He didn’t get quite the reaction he had expected from the crowd. The kind woman from earlier blinked at him, completely lost. A man in red-and-green armor snickered. For a moment, the noblewoman's face revealed concern and fear, but all too quickly that, too, was washed away. In its place came composure and suspicion. “And what exactly does the lindworm intend to do to us?”

Roman opened his mouth to respond, but realized he actually didn’t know the answer to her question. Had the lindworm actually specified what kind of doom he was spelling out? He couldn’t recall. “Very bad things,” he answered lamely.

The woman rolled her eyes. “I see.”

The man in armor next to her stepped forward. He wore a red brigandine over a bright green tunic and had a build much like his own. He was sneering. Roman felt his face go hot with embarrassment. He tried to divert his gaze, but the man leaned forward and put his hands on his hips.

“The lindworm is the stuff of nonsense,” he said. “You are either a fool, a troublemaker, or both.”

Roman shook his head earnestly. “But I’ve seen it with my own eyes! You’ve got to evacuate as soon as possible!”

The man (probably a guard of some sort) scoffed and turned his back to him to address the others. “Pay no mind to him, citizens. He’s trying to lower our defenses. Most likely, he wants us to flee so that he and whatever companions he’s hiding can loot and ransack our village. But fear not! We shall not fall for his trickery,” he declared, with a backward, distrustful glance towards him.

“I had gleaned that on my own, but yes,” sighed the prude. She took the kinder woman’s hand and turned away. “Come along, sister. Let’s not give this stranger the satisfaction of awakening our superstition.”

The kinder woman gave Roman a last look as her sister steered her back towards the festival, seeming mostly disappointed. But she let herself be dragged away.

The rest of the crowd he had attracted began to disperse as well, with vague mutters of disinterest.

The probably-guard looked him up and down with a condescending disdain. He must have decided he wasn’t worth the trouble, for even he started to turn away - until a hand caught his shoulder.

Roman realized his mistake not a moment too soon and put his hands up as he heard the  _ shing _ of the guard taking out his sword.

“I won’t hurt you!” he said quickly. “I was just going to ask if you happened to be a guard -”

The other man raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought that was obvious.” Roman opened his mouth to continue his question, but he quickly interrupted. “If you must know, I am an esteemed member of the royal guard. The king’s most trusted, in fact.” He puffed out his chest a little.

Roman lit up. “Perfect! Then take me to him.”

The guard chuckled in surprise. “Take a troublemaking outsider like you to meet the king himself? Do I look stupid?”

“Of course not! You look absolutely dashing.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you! Is it the hair? I bet it’s the hair, isn’t it.” He put his arm around Roman’s shoulder and began to walk forward with him. “You know, I always tell these people that a good hair regimen is the only correct way to start the day, but none of them ever listen!”

“Um, excuse me,” Roman interjected. “Not that I don't appreciate some good beauty tips, but where are you taking me?”

“To the king, of course!” said the guard without even stopping to stand still. “Now, as I was saying, I recently came across this absolutely unprecedented idea of moisturizing the scalp…”

✧✧✧

The palace exterior was a sight to behold. Roman had conjured castles time and time again for the mindscape, each with their own life and grandeur, but this one…this one was different.

Forget Hogwarts, forget Disneyworld, forget polished perfection, for this was all of those and so much more. It had the type of pale brick walls that were simple and strong and had clearly had countless repairs over the years. It stood cylindrically, but its rectangular towers jutted out every which way uncontainably. The sea green spires were worn down by time (Roman wasn’t sure if they were painted green at all; the Statue of Liberty certainly wasn’t).

And what shocked him most of all about this explosion of art and space and dreams and majesty was that he understood it. He understood, from ages of working with the Imagination, that it was a combination of chance and whatever spilled out of the creator’s subconscious and into his design. He understood, better than even Virgil would, that this was a translation of his being.

And he had to admit, as he gawked up at it, hardly noticing the guard tugging his arm forwards, that it was something pretty spectacular.

The guard led him to the barbican. Roman knew he was telling him something or other. He found he didn’t care very much to listen, though. How could he focus on what he was hearing when this, brilliant and complex and larger than life, was what he was seeing?

The guard said something to the knights stationed there. They nodded in unison and stepped back, permitting entrance. Roman’s eyes were stationed on the grand arched ceiling even as he was pulled past it.

<Somebody’s getting distracted.>

Only that voice managed to snap him back to the present, and it had to be the one in his own head. He didn’t fully understand the way his cheeks turned red from embarrassment, but he felt like he had been caught in a very private moment.

“I’m just stopping to smell the roses,” he said indignantly.

The man up ahead laughed, and Roman jumped. Fortunately, he did not look back to see it. “I don’t blame you,” he said. “His majesty deserves only the most glamorous of surroundings.”

“O-oh, of course! I’m certain of it,” Roman coughed. He sprinted to rejoin his escort, though he kept his embarrassed gaze carefully centered on the carpeting. “How much farther to his majesty, exactly?”

“The throne room is right this way!” said the guard, gesturing in Roman’s peripherals. He looked up and saw a doorway at the end of the hall.

Immediately, Roman brightened. His back straightened up and he held his head a little higher. Such a benevolent king as the people spoke of could only be more reasonable than irrational, non-superstitious commoners. This would be a cinch.

The guard halted, cleared his throat, and began to give some sort of instruction for how to talk to the king, but Roman didn’t need any of that. Before he could stop him, Roman rushed forwards eagerly through the doorway, leaving the guard still standing behind.

The guard crossed his arms and pouted. “I do not like that guy.”

✧✧✧

Lucky for him, Roman was no stranger to fantasy settings. He knew the proper way to bow as he entered the room, and how to sneak a glance at his majesty as he did so.

The instant he saw the king, he was overtaken with fierce loyalty. His robes were elegant but humble in length and boasted a lovely, speckled cotton candy pink. As for his face, it quite resembled Roman’s. His chocolate hair was swept up to reveal his eyes. They matched his hair in color, though far surpassed them in intensity. They were warm and kind and noble. Roman felt it was his duty to keep them alight in this way.

His suspicions had been correct. This was a good, benevolent leader of the people. He would do whatever was in his power to protect him from the fiend.

“What have you come here for?” spoke the king. His voice was neutral, commanding, and unafraid. Roman respected that.

“Your majesty,” said Roman as he rose from his bow, “your wonderful, honorable, most fearless and valiant majesty, brave of heart, pure of intention, handsome of face -”

“Just ‘Thomas’ is fine.”

Roman blinked up at him. The voice in his head said, <I swear this is news to me too.>

“Well, uh, Thomas, I thank you for your audience,” he produced. Virgil’s subconscious worked in mysterious ways, indeed.

“I come to warn you of a terrible danger,” he continued, getting to his feet. “The beast that calls itself the lindworm is preparing to terrorize your great kingdom.”

The king (for Roman refused to think of him as “King Thomas”) stared down at him, and his expression mirrored the surprise that had been on that prudish woman’s face earlier. “Why do you say that?”

“I overheard it scheming on my way to the outskirts of the fairgrounds.”

“You’re saying you came across the lindworm and came out alive?”

“Yes, yes, I know, and there’ll be plenty of time for autographs later, but I must urge you to have an evacuation as soon as possible!”

“I see.” The king got up from his throne and descended the short staircase until he was level with Roman. “Well, since you find it so great, let me tell you something about my kingdom. It is small. Small enough for me to know each and every face that inhabits it. But I’ve never seen yours.”

“Well, of course, you haven’t! I’m a traveler! A pilgrim! That’s, like, my thing, you know?”

The king pursed his lips. “Don’t get me wrong: I have no problems with new additions to the kingdom, let alone people passing through. But for a total stranger to claim he saw a mythological creature, to decide to go out of his way to warn us about it, to find and enter the castle, to come into my throne room completely unscheduled, to shower me with flattery out of nowhere, and to ask me to call for an evacuation with no evidence at all? It makes me think that the problem at hand is less likely to be a magical dragon from the stories we tell our children, and more likely to be the stranger.”

Roman’s heart sank. “Your majesty, I bear no ill will!” he protested.

The king tilted his head up so that despite their equal heights, he was still able to look down at Roman suspiciously. “If that’s true, then you are either a fool for your superstition, or a fool for thinking that I would believe you over members of my own kingdom.”

“Your majesty -”

“Enough. I have too much work to be distracted. You’re dismissed,” said the king, waving a hand towards the exit.

Roman shook his head and stood his ground. It wasn’t real, he knew that, but he still got a little choked up as he said, “Thomas, please -”

“Guard!” cried the king. There were heavy footsteps behind them, and Roman spun around to find the guard from earlier positioned dutifully at the door.

“Hello, you summoned me?” he asked.

“Yes,” nodded the king. “Your job is to serve my wishes, right?”

“Right.”

“My hopes, my dreams, any ideas I have?”

“All that you ask.”

“Great. Well, right now, I hope and dream to get rid of my guest.”

The guard dipped his head in respect. “Of course, Thomas.” He approached Roman and took him by the arms. And perhaps Roman could have broken from his grip, perhaps not, but he was so shaken by the rejection of the king (the make-believe, not-real, all-in-Virgil’s-head king, he made sure to remind himself) that he did not resist. Instead, he only looked forlornly at him as he turned back to the throne, and as Roman was dragged away by his own hand.

✧✧✧

<Well, looks like I won this round.>

Roman sat down on the stone steps outside the barbican, where the guard had left him. The humid summer air had given way to a cool breeze, as though to signify the fading of the day.

<Aw, don’t feel bad, Princey. After all, you were so noble! You were the ‘hero.’ And look how far that got you.>

Roman lay back on his hands and watched as the last supply wagons of the day emptied out of the castle. Spritely young men, unaware of the dangers awaiting them, gently led their horses onto the bridge after a long day’s work.

<Seriously, don’t feel bad. You know that wasn’t Thomas, right? I mean, it wasn’t our Thomas.>

“It sure seemed like it,” Roman said as the men faded into the distance. They were lucky, those men. They got the luxury of being “trustworthy” just because the king knew them personally.

Thomas would have believed them.

But him? Nooo, he was a “stranger.” He was “the problem.” He could be dismissed without worry, because in this world, he was nothing but a lowly commoner from the far reaches of who-knows-where.

<Oh, get over it. I told you, it was a coincidence. His name’s on my mind a lot, so it probably slipped through into the scene without me realizing, okay? The real one would never say that to you.>

A moment of silence passed that was quite rare for Roman, and then he sat up. “Yeah. Yeah! Thomas would never say any of that to me in the real world!”

<No dur. Took you long enough.>

“Because in the real world, I’m way cooler than this!”

<I…you know what? Whatever works.>

“Yeah! I’m way different in real life. I’ve got my incredible reputation as the prince/best side, not to mention my dashing good looks. This thing was rigged against me from the start!”

<That’s what you want? Your prince outfit? Your prince-ness? You really think that’s gonna do it for you?>

“Just you watch. You make me a prince, and I can turn this whole thing around before morning.”

<Spoken like a true Aladdin sympathist. You know what, this has been the most amusing thing I’ve done all month. Have it your way.>

Roman jolted to a start as he found himself suddenly several feet in the air. He looked down to find himself on a noble steed, gripping its reins with arms clothed by his normal white sleeves. He scooted on his saddle experimentally, and his boot hit a pouch of some sort. He bent down and found in it a lantern, water flask, and other basic utilities.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why the horse?”

<With the way you ran earlier? It’s an act of mercy.>

“And I will refrain from asking you any more questions! Hyah!” he cried, flicking the reins. The horse whinnied and took off in pursuit of the village.

✧✧✧

The last moments of the day fizzled out, leaving the world in a blissful pink post-sunset aura. The clopping of hooves and the backlit silhouette of the horse and its simple rider were deceptively enchanting in its inviting afterglow. They certainly seemed so to the father and son returning home from their end-of-day constitutional.

Roman spotted them too and quickly steered his horse their way. A family with a young child ought to be the first to know about a safety risk.

He cleared his throat to deliver his message, but as he came closer, he saw the father’s eyes widen.

“That crest…” he heard him breathe so faintly it was almost to himself.

“Ah, you recognize me!” said Roman in delight. This would go quickly, then.

The man blinked at him, embarrassed to have been overhead, then nodded slowly. “Of course, it’s the symbol of Carus. And given your attire, you’re - you’re their prince, aren’t you?”

“Yes, that’s me! Do you want to see my sword?” Roman asked cheerfully.

The man took a step back from the horse. “Your highness, we’ve had peace with Carus for a long time now. We are your friends.”

“Oh, excellent! That’ll make this much easier.”

“If I may ask, your highness, make what easier?”

“Making sure that, by the end of the night, this village is empty. And I’ll start with you,” he explained. Having not gotten a response, he decided to draw his sword anyway. Only once it was fully drawn did he register the man’s terror.

The man acted on instinct. He scooped his son up in his arms and ran for their lives.

“Wait, come back! You don’t get it!” Roman yelled after them, but they didn’t turn around. He sighed and flicked the reins to chase after them.

Even with the cumbersome body of the horse, they put up a chase for a short few moments, easily gaining plenty of ground. They were so close to the man and child that Roman was about to shout his explanation at them, but just then the man made a sharp turn, son in hands, and dashed into the brambles and trees on the edge of the road. Roman turned with them and halted his ride, knowing there was no way it could safely follow. By the time he had dismounted, the pair was completely obscured by the wild growth of the woods.

He had lost them. It didn’t make sense. He had just gained an advantage in his outfit, and yet somehow the citizens had gone from dismissing him to outright fleeing him.

“What did you do?” he asked stiffly, without moving a muscle from where he stood. Virgil would know well who he meant.

<Me? Oh, Roman, I gave you what you asked for. Your clothes, your ‘reputation,’ even a good prince backstory.>

“You must have rigged it. There’s an ancient feud between our kingdoms, o-or they’re all biased against beautiful men.”

<Trust me, I stacked all the cards but one to your advantage. But no matter where you came from, no matter who you are, you’re not one of them. And now that they can put a name to that? Now that they can call you ‘one of the others?’ You’re more of an outsider than ever.>

Roman’s mind raced. He wanted to retort, he really did, but Virgil’s words clicked into place with what the man had said, and he realized that in this situation, it was probably true. He didn’t have time to argue. The light of the sunset had faded away by now, and people weren’t even prepared to come into proximity with him. According to Virgil (and what the heck, everything he’d said had come true so far), anyone he’d try to convince, he’d only end up warning away further.

Wait.

Warning people away, out of the village, wasn’t that what he was hoping to achieve? And with precious few hours left before the lindworm planned to strike, was not a quick and convincing warning beneficial to the villagers’ very livelihoods? Perhaps this curse in disguise was actually a blessing in disguise as a curse in disguise after all.

Perhaps all he needed was a threat they would believe in.

✧✧✧

<So what’s the plan?>

“Why should I tell you? Maybe I just want to be a brooding midnight rider. Out on my quest towards the town center, alone with myself and my thoughts and the creepy disembodied voice in my head.”

<Oh sure, because you’re suddenly into being quiet. Quick turnaround, Swivel Ludington.>

“Since when did you do nicknames, Paul Reverse?”

<Well, with tonight going as weirdly as it has, I figured there’s no better time for a test run. Oh, and what’s that? The results are in! You  _ do _ listen to Logan’s obscure history tangents!>

“Do not! He just…got me down a bit of a 90’s rap rabbit hole. Which led to Schoolhouse Rock, which led to Liberty Ki- look, her tale is dramatic, okay? Where else do you find such valor, such tension, such drama?”

<I know a guy.>

Roman pulled into the town square. Even on the dark, hard-to-make-out road, he couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “He sounds like some pretty great company.”

<That’s one way of putting it.>

Roman got off the horse and tethered it to the nearest fencepost he could find. He put a blanket over his shoulders to protect himself from the cold, lit his lantern, and walked forwards into the town. He finally saw what he was looking for - the golden glow of windows and the faint laughter of celebration.

His target audience.

The moment he stepped into the tavern, the banter and music withered and died. All heads turned to focus on the oddly clothed stranger with the blanket over him who had barged in on their merriment.

A few whispers emerged from the corners of the room, and as his head turned to follow them, he recognized two distinct faces among the patrons.

The woman in the blue dress from before had her hand over her mouth as she murmured something to the people around her, brow lowered in concern. She was immersed in some sort of gossip, though Roman could feel her gaze on him out of the corner of her eye.

By her side was her apparently oblivious sister, the kind woman who had helped him. She was looking right at him, waving wildly with big, smiling eyes. Roman couldn’t resist cracking a smile and giving a little wave back. At this, her sister snapped back to face him and stood up straight for all the tavern to see.

“Why are you back? Have you not deceived enough people into paranoia already?”

This wasn’t in the plans, but there was no need to worry. Roman was a master improviser. “I assure you, I haven’t deceived anyone.”

The woman bit her lip and turned to face the crowd. “This man was at the fairgrounds earlier today, trying to fill civilians’ minds with stuff and nonsense about the lindworm. He is not to be trusted.”

Several murmurs of alarm went up throughout the room, and the patrons closest to the door all scooted back on their benches.

Roman didn’t flinch. “I was attempting to make sure this village was safe. Something which you have done nothing to assist in.”

The woman drew back in offense. “I have defended this village from giving into fairy tales like yours for as long as I’ve been here.”

Roman smirked. “Oh really? You’re ‘defending’ them?” He took a step forward. “Closing off your mind, refusing to heed my warnings? Oh, you’re so clever. Everyone’s out of danger now.”

The woman took a step back, and Roman’s smile grew. “Except you’re afraid, aren’t you? It’s written all over you. You thought I could be ignored. You thought I wasn’t a threat.” As he thrust his arm sideways in order to draw his sword from its sheath, his blanket fell limply from one of his shoulders, and the crowd gasped.

Roman’s grin spread even further across his face as he let the crowd take in the sight. The woman looked back and forth between him and the stunned patrons. He decided now was the time to go in for the kill. “Well guess what, brainiac? You were wrong.”

The kind sister caught Roman’s attention as she put a hand to her mouth. She tugged gently on her dress. “Corey…” she whispered. “His crest.”

For a moment, Roman felt a twinge of guilt for frightening the innocent girl, but he tried to put it aside. This was to save her life; she’d thank him if only she knew.

Thankfully, her fright resulted in her sister noticing the insignia on his shoulder. Her breath hitched to a stop. “You’re…you’re the prince.”

Roman drew his life force from every villain he knew when he laughed, cold and cruel. One young woman wouldn’t distract him. He was an actor, and an actor convinced his audience. “Finally, something correct comes out of your mouth.” He raised his sword. “Now, I just know that you didn’t mean to put your people at risk with one little mistake, did you?”

“N-no, of course not, your highness,” stammered the prudish woman, curtsying quickly. Roman held back a sigh of relief when he noticed her dress was trembling ever-so-slightly in her hands. “I mean no offense. Please, forgive me.”

Roman slowly stepped around her like a wolf circling its prey, ever-so-carefully directing her attention to that shiny sword in his hand. “Hmm…I suppose I can make some pardons - for a small favor.”

“I’m not sure how much help I could be to you -”

“Nonsense! You’re the most influential woman in the village. I’m sure you could help these simple-minded commoners…understand my point of view,” he said, waving a hand at the people around the tavern.

The woman bit her lip and looked at him with a mixture of contempt and terror. “What do you need?”

Roman leaned in until he was half a foot away from her face and breathed his orders to her in a low, persuasive voice. “Evacuate this kingdom completely before sunrise, or those left behind will suffer the consequences.”

“But -”

“‘But?’ Is that any way to talk to a villain?”

That’s when it clicked.

Virgil.

“…right away, your majesty.”

Virgil, surrounded by sides no different from these simple commoners.

There was a rising murmur among the crowd. Voices fretting, the scratching of chairs against the floor as they scooted in, and the passing of the door from person to person.

Virgil, unable to civilly convey what he thought was the end of the world without being ridiculed and rejected time and time again.

“You heard him! Tell everyone in town! Don’t let anyone get left behind! We’ve only got a few hours!”

Virgil, making his voice heard in the only way he knew how.

The crowds left en masse. The sisters left too, but Roman barely registered it.

Virgil, forced into a corner where his only option was fearmongering.

He was left alone in the empty tavern as the patrons dissipated across the entire village.

Virgil, whose effort to protect the ones he cared about would result, time and time again, in pushing them away.

Somewhere in the distance, the lindworm planned a fruitless attack on a population that would soon be long gone. Although they would never know it, they had been saved.

Virgil who, despite everything, was brave enough to try.

<Well, look who saved the day. Gold star, A+, ‘and the Oscar goes to...Roman!’ And so on and so forth.>

Roman smiled at the familiar voice. “For all that, you owe me more than an Oscar.”

<How about I get you out of this place and we call it even?>

“Yeah, yeah, close enough.”

<Okay, sit down.>

Roman went over to the prudish woman’s stool and did so.

<Close your eyes.>

Roman obeyed.

<Now click your heels together and chant ‘there’s no place like home’ like a creepy cult mantra.>

“Virgil.”

“Roman.”

He knew at once that the voice was real. His eyes fluttered open and there he was in front of him. The real prince of the story, looking at him all too smugly with both arms crossed. He leaned easily against the arm of the couch Roman was sitting on. And though Roman stuck out his tongue at him, he privately admitted that he was a sight for sore eyes.

“So, how’d it go?” drawled his rescuer.

“Well, first things first, I won.”

“Impossible. If you’ll come back to reality, we live in the commercialist holiday nightmare that is 2017. There’s no winning on Christmas.”

Roman laughed. “Fine, then. I’m a hero.”

Virgil’s teasing grin dropped for just a split second, but it quickly slid back up his smug mug. “Wow, I’m impressed. Roman the hero.” He clicked his tongue. “That’s a special kind of dense, but I can’t say I’m surprised. After all that, you don’t have a clue what I was trying to teach you.”

“No, I do.”

“It’s alright, Roman, I didn’t expect you to - what?”

“I know exactly what your point was. But that doesn't make what I did any less heroic.”

Virgil chuckled. “Oh, but don’t you see? All along since I revealed myself, what I’ve been doing -”

“Was just as heroic as what I have,” said Roman seriously.

That was enough to make Virgil blink and to tame his expression from cocky to considerate. He tilted his head just slightly and asked a million unspoken questions. Roman sighed and patted the spot next to him. Virgil looked like he was going to protest, but gave in and sat down (above him, on the head of the couch).

“Virgil,” Roman started, not really sure where he was going with it, “there’s a lot of things we haven’t really discussed since you…agreed to work with us.”

“What is there to discuss?” asked Virgil. He chuckled again, but this time Roman realized there was something more than mockery in that laugh. Nerves? Embarrassment?

“Well, for one, I don’t think I’ve ever said…you know…the ‘S’ word.”

“Well shit, don’t start on my account.”

“Not - you know, the other one.”

“If you’re one of those people who thinks ‘sucks’ is a curse -”

“Sorry! It’s ‘sorry.’ I’m sorry,” Roman burst out. His cheeks reddened when he saw how taken aback Virgil was, but still, he pressed on. “I was unfair to you, Virgil. Really, really unfair. I treated you as this villain to be kept out of power when in reality you wanted to help Thomas succeed just as much as the rest of us. I thought I could put you into this box of being different and be done with it without listening to you.”

“Roman -”

“And furthermore, I now know how hard it must have been for you to have had no choice but to push us away. Though I might not have always agreed with your methods or your intentions, you sacrificed your relationships with us in order to do what you felt would protect us. And for that, I believe a thank you is in order.” He nodded his head to Virgil, whose expression had softened. “So thank you, Virgil, for doing what you felt was right. And I give you my word that that will never again cost you our affections.”

Virgil stared down at his legs for a moment, and the look in his eye flowed from one emotion into the next: gratitude, reflection, regret, concern, embarrassment, and finally, something like apprehension.

“Thanks, Roman. That, uh. That’s really, really nice to hear, honestly.” He bit his lip. “But you gotta understand, I wasn’t always in the right. I pushed too far a lot of the time and ended up hurting Thomas or one of you. And being…being Anxiety, you know, I tended to get p- pretty invested in things that weren’t as big a deal as I thought they were. I mean, I still do. That’s never gonna change.”

“I know, but that’s part of who you are. The least we can do is to hear you out and try to help you realize when you’re in over your head. Okay?”

There was a pause, and for just a second Roman feared he had said something wrong. But then Virgil’s mouth cracked upward, and he gave a “pfft. Yeah, okay. Whatever” that was supposed to be half-hearted but failed.

Roman smiled in turn and put a comforting arm around him. Virgil’s shoulders tensed for a moment, but other than that he made no protest other than quickly averting his eyes.

They sat there for a while in comfortable silence. The Yuletide firelight bathing them in its glow was the only noise to be heard. Their shadows waxed and waned with the ebb and flow of the flames until Virgil carefully came down to sit on the mattress. For once, Roman didn’t comment.

It was Virgil who finally spoke. “Roman?”

“Mm?”

“When I lashed out at you earlier - was that me being in over my head?”

Roman considered. “Well, I understand why you did it. I was being really hostile, and I know that whatever feelings of Thomas’ you were referring to, they must have been very sensitive. I can’t imagine I did anything to encourage you to share them.” He paused. “That being said, it was still pretty stupid that you didn’t trust me of all sides to handle romantic endeavors. I am the embodiment of romance and passion! And…whatever made you think I wasn’t handling that well, I’m truly sorry. I’ll try to listen to you better in the future, even on the topic of romance. But only on the condition that I’m informed about any romantic relationships I should know about in the first place.”

Virgil looked at him carefully for a long time. Roman was a little confused, but he pushed his questions aside for now and looked back patiently. At long last, Virgil sighed. “It’s a deal.”

Roman smiled at him reassuringly. “Good.”

Virgil took a long, deep breath. “Roman.”

“Virgil.”

“I have feelings for you.”

There was one quiet beat. And then, all at once, every single thought in Roman’s head exploded.

It was a complete whirlwind. His attention was split every which way. Just as he started to connect the dots, he was dragged away to complete and utter delight, and again to panic and confusion and pride and glee and realization. And all of it was disconnected and jumbled, and all of it was unified and complete, and it was terrifying and it was wonderful. And his emotions and thoughts spun him farther and farther into the eye of the storm, where one concept rang clearer than all the others:  _ yes _ .

He very well could have stayed like this, lost in a million thoughts, if he wasn’t pulled gently back towards confidence by notice of Virgil’s face. It was wracked with stress and instant regret, and when he looked down Roman realized he was considering sinking out. He grabbed his arm, gently but firmly, to prevent that.

And that’s when he saw the other thing about his face; it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His hair was windswept over his face. His eyes, now trained directly on him, were a vibrant, translucent smoky quartz that burned with trepidation.

Roman’s little gay soul lept from his body as he looked at what had become of the side that had once upon a time been his sworn rival. He was nothing like his original estimate from so long ago. He was sweet and genuine and thoughtful and protective and selfless and brave. And in that moment, Roman knew that he was everything a prince could ever be, and that he loved him.

“Virgil,” he said delicately, so as not to cause him further stress. The name, unlike its owner, held similar connotations to the way he’d always known it: different and secret and special and fitting.

Virgil remained motionless, and his breath held still along with him. Roman slid his hand down Virgil’s forearm until it rested lightly in his hand. Both of them hesitated a moment, but then one of them (neither was quite sure who) had the courage to intertwine his fingers in the other’s.

“Virgil,” Roman said again. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my boyfriend?”

The firelight flickered over Virgil’s eyes, illuminating every emotion that flashed through them, and Roman identified the same great eruption of feeling that he had just been through. First, disbelief, then suspicion, denial, confusion, hope, joy, and -  _ oh _ .

No one had ever looked at Roman as softly as Virgil did at that moment.

His whole face smiled ever-so-gently at him, from his creased eyes to his wrinkled nose right down to the slight curl lifting his lips. Roman memorized that smile, set on duplicating it many times to come.

Virgil squeezed his hand tightly and gave the subtlest suggestion of a nod. “Duh.”

Roman laughed elbowing him playfully. Virgil blocked his attacks with mild annoyance, and the laughter caught up to him as well. They stayed there for a bit, laughing and laughing at this bizarre day and its incredible, unreal turn of events.

When they finally settled down, Virgil breathed a sigh of content and plopped down onto the couch, face up. Roman leaned over to study his prince’s face, but Virgil’s loving, glazed-over grin immediately turned to a frown as he stared past him. “Patton,” he growled.

“What?” asked Roman, taken aback. He turned to follow Virgil’s line of vision and saw a tidy little clump of mistletoe dangling from a red bow that had most definitely not been part of his decorations. He slowly swiveled his head back down.

“We really don’t have to,” posited Virgil in a way that would be casual if it weren’t so immediate. “Mistletoe is just overused, frivolous, heteronormati- mmph!”

Roman pressed lightly but firmly into Virgil’s lips, not daring to think twice. He drew away quickly after only a second, not wanting to overstep his bounds, but at the moment it had been absolutely incredible.

“Did that feel heteronormative to you?”

Virgil breathed heavily, more out of disbelief than breathlessness. Finally, he replied, “I dunno. Maybe I should double-check.”

✧✧✧

The fire’s roar had dimmed to a melodic hiss. Roman was sitting with Virgil blanketed over his lap and had begun to stroke his head in soothing circles. Everything was peaceful.

“Roman?”

Roman looked down at him and somehow managed to procure a tender smirk. “Virgil?”

Virgil hesitated for a second, then burst out, “did you do this to make me feel better?”

Roman stopped petting at once. “Wh-what? Why would I do that?”

“It’s just - you never really showed any signs of liking me before, and you’d just gone through a lot, and I don’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it, it’s totally fine if you did, just -”

“Virgil,” said Roman firmly, placing a warm hand on his head. Virgil shut up at once.

“If there’s anything you’ve taught me today, it’s that we can have…odd ways of caring for one another. And while I’m grateful for the strides you’ve made, it seems to me like you’ve been caring for us from the start. It just took me some time to figure out.” He paused. “And though we’ve had our differences in the past, I think that I, too, have cared for you from the start. It just took us both some time to figure out.”

Virgil grinned at that, the real, heartfelt grin from before. “Aw, you caaare about me.”

“Well, yes. Alternatively, however: I love you.”

Virgil apparently didn’t have a comeback for that.

“Come onnn, you gotta say it! You are not getting away with it being an ‘understood thing’ this time.”

“Whatever. You already know it,” he scoffed, a pale red coming to his cheeks. Then, after a moment: “But yeah, geez, I love you too.”

Roman pulled him a little closer into his embrace, and Virgil gladly adjusted. It was a weird sensation in spite of its inevitability, hearing Virgil say those words. Less than a year ago he wouldn't have thought it possible. But things changed. Estrangement became familiarity. Enemies became lovers. Villains became heroes.

Roman stared down at his new boyfriend (he’d never get used to that word), lost in thought. It wasn’t that simple, was it? These changes were gradual and blurred. Familiarity emerged from the monotony of estrangement. Love blossomed in the commonality of enemies. Heroism arose in even the most villainous types. Today was certainly proof of that.

Because his hero still had a sense of villainy in him.

After all, this Christmas, his prince had stolen his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Tee, my giftee, requested an enemies-to-lovers fic and I miiight have gone a tad overboard. But I had a ton of fun writing it and hope anyone who's made it this far had just as much of a wild ride reading it. Happy holidays!


End file.
